Fragile
"Erik, it's already perfect!" Christine cried out indignantly.
"No, it's not," he muttered distractedly without pausing or looking up at her.
"It could have been ready half an hour earlier if you haven't scared off all my maids!" She continued.
"Sssh, it's almost done."
Having no other choice, she resumed her silent fuming, waiting impatiently while Erik adjusted her costume to his liking.
That night was the opening night of the rebuilt opera house. The managers had kindly requested Christine to take the leading role and to be the leading soprano in the following season since Carlotta left the opera house in her mourning of her beloved husband. Christine decided she shouldn't let slip such an opportunity. Part of her felt compassion toward her once hated enemy and it definitely wasn't the way she wanted to earn the leading role but she didn't wish to think about why Carlotta had left. It was easier not to think about it at all, though it still didn't make those days disappear from the past.
She knew all too well that she was chosen not just because of her voice but because of the rumors of her inexplicable disappearance after the fire and her unnamed relationship with the Phantom but she didn't care. She liked the opera house what she claimed her home for so long but first of all, she liked singing. She was sure that most of the people who'd attend on that first night would come only to see the girl whose voice had been trained by the mysterious and unseen Phantom but she was also sure that next time they'd come for the music. She knew her voice would make them forget about those rumors.
She'd married Erik weeks after the fire and they moved to a small house in the outskirts of Paris a few days later. Though their new home wasn't as quiet and isolated as the house by the lake beneath the opera house had been, they still managed to remain relatively separated from others. She kept her maiden name; she was already well-known, so it wasn't particularly outrageous to remain Christine Daae in her marriage. Naturally, gossips didn't stop with her announced marriage to an unknown foreign businessman since it was a Vicomte she turned down, yet people all around the city seemed to be less interested in it with every passing week.
"Now it is perfect," he announced triumphantly.
"Finally," she sulked and turned to check the achievement in her mirror. "It looks the same it did before you started to fidget with the laces," she complained a moment later but then walked to him who carefully stayed out of the mirror's way.
"No. Now you're costume is perfect. Just as you are." With a huge smile, she encircled his waist with her arms.
"You're the most…"
"Sssh, I'm not," he silenced her with a kiss on her temple but she continued.
"I wanted to say the most punctilious husband in the world."
"Oh. You're probably right in that." He leaned forward to kiss her lips but then he saw her thick stage make-up and pulled back reluctantly. "Am I allowed to watch your performance?" He asked, though he didn't wait for a real answer. He'd watch her even if she said no.
"Of course you are! How else will you correct my mistakes? It's been so long since I've sung onstage."
"You won't make any mistake," he assured her with a soft brush of his fingers across her cheek and she smiled at him mischievously.
"From box 5?"
"Do you think they'd believe the Ghost's story again?"
"Be careful," she implored timidly. And don't commit anything.
Somewhere a bell rang and she almost jumped with trepidation.
"I have to go," she choked excitedly, suddenly feeling nervous and unprepared, and it was even worse when she thought about what she planned to do at the end of her performance. Though she experienced his love for her in every moment of every day she still feared he wouldn't forgive her. It was a slight, ridiculous possibility but with Erik she never knew.
"Christine, calm down. It's not your first performance; you know what you're expected to do."
"That's why I'm so restless," she murmured under her breath but he heard her anyway.
"There's nothing you should be worried about. I've seen the last rehearsal; everything was as it should have been. And you could always have a guardian, you know," he finished almost playfully. There was little what changed about him since their marriage, but what did, it was that little playfulness in his personality what she discovered not long after she returned to him after that fateful night of the fire. It began with one, shy try from him on their wedding night (to ease down both of their embarrassment, she suspected) and she almost didn't believe her own ears at first that he was capable of being so at ease with her. That little playfulness showed up from time to time and she adored all of the minutes of those days.
"I have to be flawless. I don't want to choose the easier way all the time and let you to be strong for me."
"You haven't chosen the easier way with me."
"No," she smiled and cupped his face into her palm, caressing his swollen lips with her thumb. "I've chosen the man I love, no matter what difficulties would that cause in my life. With you, I don't care about them."
"You'd be late," he reminded her, fearing that if she stayed only a minute longer, he'd say something irrevocably stupid or sentimental. With one last squeeze on her hand, he let her walk to the door of her dressing room, and when she softly shut the door, he put his mask back on. Opening the mechanism of the mirror, he vanished in the catacombs of the opera house, skillfully blending with the shadows as he did for so long. He didn't intend to simply listen to her performance as he did when that ignorant Vicomte had stolen his box. With steady footsteps, he crept up to box 5 on his long-ago used corridors.
He watched her from his normal seat that night. He hadn't seen her singing onstage from that place… well, never. On the first night she'd sung that boy took his box, never allowing him to see her performing. And then there were those three disastrous month, then the fire…
He turned the ring on his finger absentmindedly. Now she was his. She married him on her own free will and he knew she wasn't lying when she said she loved him. He felt it in her every touch, every kiss, every moment of day and night… She was his.
-o-
It seemed impossible to get through the throng to her dressing room, it was as if every people from the audience was determined to speak with her, to express their devotion to her voice and to satisfy their curiosity, of course. She didn't know how much time passed since she began answering all the questions, smiling nicely at her admirers until she could start her journey back to her room when a familiar voice called her name.
"Christine!"
She turned around surprised. "Raoul?" A small smile came to her lips along with the pang in her heart and with – disappointment. Erik surely would know that she had spoken with Raoul and he would surely take it as her intention to change her mind, no matter they'd been married for several month now and no matter all the affection towards him on her part. And now he would definitely not care nor remember her last encore.
"I've never heard someone singing with so much empathy in her voice as you did tonight! You've been breathtaking!" He praised and came to stand in front of her and before she realized his intention he'd already clasped her hand in his formally, but before he leaned over her hand, he asked perceptively,
"May I?"
She gave him a timid smile before answering, "Yes."
Bowing his head he softly kissed the back of her hand, not lingering there longer than it was necessary and proper.
"You're married," he stated plainly while slowly letting go of her hand, referring to the gold band on her finger.
"Yes, I am." She couldn't help but beam at him, thinking about her peculiar husband. At the same time, she imagined it would have been better if they didn't meet at all, for Raoul. He had no ring she noticed, but whether it was because he wasn't married yet or he was still in love with her, she didn't wish to know. Erik always wore his ring; it was the only jewel he wore. Her fingers involuntarily touched her own ring.
"Is it him?" She heard Raoul ask and her thoughts returned to the current conversation from her silent musing.
"Yes; I married him as I told you." It was foolish of her to hope this conversation wouldn't take a turn like this and she didn't like it at all. Most probably Erik didn't like it, either, but because of a completely different reason. As much as he came to trust her lately, he wouldn't stop watching her from behind, she was certain of that.
"Are you happy with him?" Came Raoul's next question and Christine saw the distant sadness in his eyes though he tried to hide it with nonchalance.
"More than I've ever imagined I could be," she replied sincerely, hoping that in case Erik was listening, he would believe it, too. "He is still teaching me to sing and recently to play the piano, too." She said only to change the subject.
People came and went around them but Christine didn't care about them. If they bothered to listen, they would think she was talking about his husband and only the two of them knew that he used to be the Phantom.
"I thought you moved to somewhere else," she continued, trying to be polite without hurting Raoul too much.
"No, I've just taken a longer journey in America; I still live here in Paris. When I arrived my family said you're singing again so I decided to come and see you on stage." He was twirling his hat in his hands distractedly while speaking. Christine thought it was time for leaving before something irrevocable would be confessed on his part.
"I have to go," she said breathless but told herself to calm. "It was nice to see you again." Her words were polite yet final.
"Yes, you too."
The door to her dressing room was just a few steps away yet it took her another five minutes to get in. When finally she managed to step into her room, she shut the door tiredly, leaning to it with a deep sigh.
"What was that?" Two burning eyes asked her from the darkness and it took her a couple of moments until her eyes got used to the dim light of her room after the bright halls. Erik was standing with his back leant to the opposite wall, his arms folded on his chest. He'd seen them, she knew it in that very moment she caught a glimpse of his eyes.
"What was what?" She asked back. There was a slight chance he remembered her last, special encore.
"Why was he here?"
"He wanted to see me singing on stage. You didn't hear that?"
"I've heard everything quite clearly, my dear," he growled and she was frozen on her spot. The fact was pretty unnerving that she was right about her fears.
"Then you know that nothing happened you should be upset about," she ventured to say after a short pause. A long, disturbing, torturous silence followed her statement, the furious burning in his eyes never ceasing the slightest.
"He kissed you." The cold, emotionless words seeped through her skin, making her feel guilty and unworthy of his trust. But she did nothing!
"Only my hand, Erik! And he asked my permission!"
"Which you gave him without a thought!" He yelled at her and she pressed herself firmly to the door.
"A lot of people kissed my hand tonight," she whispered, trying to make him see reason though she suspected it was a wasted effort when it was about her former fiancée. Pushing himself furiously from the wall, he took some infuriatingly slow steps towards her and her heart clenched in her chest.
"Only I'm allowed to kiss you," he warned menacingly and for a moment it seemed her heart stopped beating and air left her lungs momentarily. On his way he tore away the mask from his face but it wasn't the sight of him what terrified her but his calculated calmness, the swiftness of his movements as he approached her.
"Yes, only you," she choked when he came to a halt in front of her, looking down into her eyes coldly. However, when finally he kissed her, his kiss was surprisingly gentle and lingering. Relief washed over her and had it not been his nearness, she would have given into tears, but now instead of that her fingers curled into his lapels, pulling him even closer than his arms around her waist did alone.
"Nothing happened, Erik," she assured her again when they broke apart.
"Yes, nothing," he echoed and turned away but her fingers on his cheek turned him back to face her. "Have you planned this?" He asked her sadly as her thumb brushed lightly his swollen lower lip.
"No, I've planned something completely different," she said while cleaning her lipstick from his face. "I had no idea he would be here."
There was no question in his mind that all of her lipstick had been wiped from his face moments ago yet she was still busy with brushing her thumb across his lips. It was quite reassuring.
"My last encore was only for you. That was the only thing I planned for this performance. Not him being here."
He left her embrace before forming an answer. "It was nice."
"You liked it?"
"Yes, it was rather good, considering that you never told me you wanted to perform that song of mine and we never discussed how to sing it properly," he answered dispiritedly.
"Was it that bad?" She asked in disbelief.
"No. I said it was good. But to say it's an unknown masterpiece from 1869… I've written that a month ago."
"I thought it would make you happy to hear one of your pieces played by a full orchestra."
"It did," ha answered but to Christine he sounded anything but happy and she wasn't able to decide which was worse: his raging or his inconsolable sadness. Walking slowly around him, she placed tentative hands on his chest.
"Let me change out of my costume and then we can leave for home."
He nodded and she hurried to prepare herself for leaving. When she returned he had already done his mask back on his face and was fidgeting with her knickknacks on her vanity.
"Do you love me, Christine? Just a little?"
The small bag dropped to the floor from her hands as she rushed to her husband. "I wouldn't be here if I don't, Erik." Timidly she took his hand in hers. "I wouldn't have married you if I didn't love you. I do love you, Erik, more than anything."
"You shouldn't be afraid of me."
"How could I prove you that I genuinely love you? What should I do?" She asked desperately, deliberately ignoring his last sentence.
He let her curls falling between his fingers but he said nothing for minutes. Only a couple of hours ago he was so utterly convinced about her love for him but now…? He knew nothing changed, he knew he should feel the same but he couldn't. He wanted to tell her that he believed her and part of him did believe her but he couldn't simply forget about the boy and his obvious love for his wife.
"Kiss me?" He offered her finally and Christine's hand lifted to the edge of his mask right away, silently questioning whether she was allowed to discard it and when he didn't object she took it off and kissed him passionately.
They parted reluctantly at last, her hand resting leisurely on his deformed cheek while he rested his arms around her waist. "Can we go home now? As if nothing had happened?" She asked softly and he nodded but didn't move.
"Was that true what you told him?" He asked mournfully.
"Yes, I meant every word."
"Even when you said you're happier with me than you ever imagined?"
"Yes."
Suddenly he pulled her close to him, not leaving any space between their bodies while he buried his face into her hair. She could have sworn she heard him breathing a soft "Thank you."